


Ms. Connect the Dots

by eb4life



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Eskel just wants to keep the peace, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, a splash of mental health, blogger!Jaskier, but it used to be a bar, communication and also a lack of it, jaskier is going through it, language of platonic love, massage as apology, platonic touches, poor Jaskier is lonely and touch and human interaction starved, there's a coffee shop, there's a death threat, there's a dog and also a park of dogs, why is that not a tag, writer!witchers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29291418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eb4life/pseuds/eb4life
Summary: Jaskier runs a blog called Ms Connect the Dots where he helps writers connect plot points, among other things, and our witchers are writers who come to him for help. Indulgent, slowburn (potentially medium-burn?) found fam fic full of making connections ft. writer witchers and writer+blogger Jaskier.All things are platonic.Also there's a coffee shop.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Witchers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hi, I'm back and brought some more trash!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own the Witcher
> 
> First, a confession of my sins: I promised a Voltron fic by February, but I feel a cops+vigilantes fic may not be appropriate considering the state of the nation, so I started playing in another fandom sandbox. Sorry my loves!
> 
> TW info: warnings before every chapter, but this is a standing one. Jask sometimes has Dark Thoughts/Big Feelings and mild panic attacks, but no suicidal thoughts/self-harm or anything major like that. There's also some cursing, but nothing violent. Please lmk if more warnings need to be added!

TWs: none

Chp1

Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat when the cheerful ding went off, alerting him to a new email. Setting down the pencil he used to hurriedly scratch out a character design on lined paper, he jerked his body so his chair rolled over to his second desk. He banged his shin on the spot where the two desks joined to form an “L” together.

_Hey Mrs. Connect the Dots!_

_I know you’re probably busy but I’ve been working on this fantasy piece set in the Middle_

_Ages about these two siblings who—_

_Hello!_

_Would you mind helping me with this sci-fi—_

_Good morning,_

_I need help with—_

_Hi, do you think you can help—_

_Hey Jask,_

Giddy warmth rose in Jaskier’s chest when he saw that little nickname beaming at him from his computer screen. Very few writers knew his name, which was by design, of course. Names were powerful and could be a direct line to finding info like someone ‘s phone number or where they lived. He didn’t want to give anyone a way in.

Jaskier already knew who he was dealing with, just from the greeting, and opened the email with his heart in his throat and a smile on his face.

_Hey Jask,_

_Writing a female voice is fucking hard. Let me know what you think of the interactions in this. It sounds stupid to me so help me fix it? Obviously this isn’t a connections kind of job but I trust your judgement better than anyone else’s I guess._

_Please help_

_Lambert_

The previous customer’s design momentarily set aside, Jaskier opened the attached document and found a few pages of back and forth between the surly young princess character who got lost on a hunting trip with her father, and the grumpy old peasant hunter who she was forcing to help her get home. It was funny seeing the princess using ridiculously fancy and highbrow language to try to embarrass the hunter, or to make him feel stupid, only for the hunter to turn around and use the dialect of his home against her and baffle her into demanding that he teach her the dialect.

It was near perfect. To the point that it made Jaskier wonder why Lambert even sent it his way. He was a pretty confident guy, especially when it came to his novel. Jaskier began typing up a response on his light up rainbow keyboard, fingers dancing impossibly fast across the keys as he sang Lambert’s praises at a rate of 132 wpm. He wrote up a suggestion for more info on the forest, suggesting he capitalize on how creepy a scraggly, leafless tree clawing up at the sky can be, or how panic inducing the sound of a single twig cracking— then he promptly apologized for sounding pretentious.

He sent the email and returned to sketching a proposed new character design for the main character of another creator’s story. He used broad and rough strokes to create the flowing curves of the character’s dress, which was being blown around by a gust of wind as the character looked over his shoulder to stare down the wall he was climbing. Once he was happy with the design, he scanned it and sent it along with a couple of notes for alternatives to the design to the creator. He found another email from Lambert waiting for him. It was a thank you, which was always nice. But there was also a question about Jaskier’s wellbeing.

Lambert was like Geralt, his brother and another writer Jaskier worked with. Both of them were awkward with people and avoided small talk as much as possible, so it was strange that Lambert was asking. Jaskier shrugged, typing back a response saying that he was well, if not a bit busy as of late. Business was picking up and just when Jaskier though he’d hit the peak of his popularity, his workload, his everything— there was more. But he didn’t say that. He said he was a bit busy. 

Lambert’s response was immediate. Jaskier read the email and considered asking Lambert if _he_ was okay. Because Lambert’s response was. . . weird.

_Just make sure you’re taking care of yourself._

That was something that maybe Eskel (Lambert’s and Geralt’s other brother, also a writer, lovely fantasy novelist) would say. Maybe. Eskel was the most emotionally competent and socially fluent of them, but even he had his limits. He was more likely to say, “sounds rough, take care.” Not “just make sure you’re taking care of yourself.” Admittedly, the phrases wouldn’t sound much different to someone not fluent in Morhen (the caveman language the Morhen brothers and their adopted father all spoke), but Jaskier was.

“This is so fucking weird,” Jaskier said, reading a new message where Lambert apologized for taking up too much of Jaskier’s time. He sent a response back without thinking.

_It nice to take a break, I don’t mind helping you guys or talking to you._

Immediately after hitting send, Jaskier knew it was too much. He should’ve said “no big deal” or “needed the break anyways.” Not what was essentially “I miss you and the guys, glad you reached out, let’s talk more.” He definitely meant that. But if he said that, Lambert would tell Geralt, who would tell Eskel, who would tell Vesemir, and then the Morhens would never talk to him again because that’s a weird fucking thing to email someone. And if they didn’t stop talking to him, Jaskier would be faced with the embarrassment of. . . _that_ , every time he saw a Morhen or worked with a Morhen. So he didn’t say that.

Jaskier eyed the screen for two minutes. When he didn’t get a response, he turned back to another writer’s request. It had definitely been too much.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own The Witcher
> 
> I hope everyone got to be with their loved ones today, or as much as you could be with *everything* that's been going on. Fortunately, we have fic to comfort ourselves until we're able to be near each other again. I'll do my best to break out the fluff in later chapters, just for you!

TW: poor self-care (refusing to sleep, overworking), mild description of a threat of violence

Chp2

Jaskier jerked his head up at the sound of a loud ding. Blinking slowly, he wriggled his nose and smacked his lips, trying to feel like he was in his own body. Glancing around the room, he noticed the computer’s screen was lit up, bathing the otherwise dark space in a bright blue glow. Yawning, he scuttled on the wheely chair over to the computer and logged in, batting a stray piece of paper from where it stuck to his face.

The little number in the bottom corner of the screen told him it was 4:53 in the morning. He squinted, the fact not computing. Jaskier sluggishly signed into his email, mistyping the password twice before being granted entry to his own emails. Trying to focus on the 22 new messages he got somewhere between 1 in the morning, which was the last time he looked at a clock, and now, he found that the one that woke him up was from Eskel.

_Hi Jaskier,_

_I know this kind of thing isn’t really your job, but I was wondering if you could look this over and check this out for me. It feels a little melodramatic, but that could be because it’s late and nothing looks right when it’s late._

_Anyways, I hope you’re doing well. I know you’ve been busy, so please put this off until you have extra time._

_Take care,_

_Eskel_

“He’s gossiping with Lambert about me,” Jaskier mumbled aloud. “He’s gossiping. With _Lambert_. About _me_.”

How else could he have known about Jaskier’s workload? He didn’t normally complain about things like that. He only told Lambert because he asked outright how Jaskier was doing, and Jaskier was sleep-deprived and sleep-deprived Jaskier had slippery typing fingers.

Cracking his head left, then right, and popping his knuckles, Jaskier set out to type. A few quick lines later, and he was sending a kindly worded email informing Eskel that Lambert didn’t know what the hell he was talking about because he was a brainless git who stuck his nose places it didn’t belong. And that the document hadn’t sent.

He didn’t have to wait long for a response.

_Kid, why the hell are you up? And I have no idea what you’re talking about, Lambert didn’t tell me anything. You never take care of yourself, so it was safe to assume you were keeping old habits._

_Doc is actually attached this time, sorry about that. Don’t respond, get some sleep._

_Eskel_

Who was Jaskier to defy a direct order? He resolved to defying only part of it, choosing to work on the next writer’s request instead of going back to sleep. It was a request for what he actually did: connecting plot points and figuring out how to string separate written bits together into one cohesive work. The writer had a working title of “Something About Gays in Space,” which Jaskier found equal parts intriguing and charming.

His pencil moved at lightning speed across sheet after sheet of lined paper, linking up plot points, short summaries of “at some point this happens,” and fully written scenes that painted a beautiful, tragic love story between two people drifting further and further apart in space as their duties to the Intergalactic Space Exploration Program (ISEP) kept them too busy for so much as a quick conversation and both considered themselves not important enough to bother their busy, busy loved one regardless.

He was absentmindedly painting two little astronauts in pastel space suits floating on opposite sides of a conqueringly huge, multicolored planet surrounded by stars when the computer let out another ding. Huffing frustratedly, Jaskier stuck his paintbrush behind his ear, not even flinching when a blob of dusky purple paint dropped onto his cheek.

Scooting over to the computer, he found a few new emails. They were all asking for services he didn’t provide, even though his rules and services were clearly explained on his blog and all his social media. He sometimes reached outside the writing services he normally offered when he was particularly smitten with a writer’s style or work, but he didn’t advertise that. He should probably see if any of his customers were advertising that he did that.

He sent quick messages to those who asked for things he wasn’t willing to provide, like proofreading a 200,000 word story or fact checking an 8th century style ballad for authenticity. He gave a few recommendations of who to go to for to get that kind of help and called it a day, finding himself back at Eskel’s email.

_Don’t respond to this, get some sleep._

Eskel didn’t say _when_ he had to get some sleep. And since when did he listen to Eskel anyways? Jaskier opened up the doc attached to the email and began reading a fantasy story that had a touch of film noir vibes to it. It sounded strange, but the level of melodrama and fatalistic humour that was evenly matched with the fantasy-esque optimism and wonder.

Jaskier shot back an email so full of appreciation for Eskel’s strange writing style, that it was mostly just one line of praise after the other with little suggestion for revision intermixed. He hit send and, just as he was about to lean back into his chair and take a second to relax, his computer let out another ding.

Jaskier straightened, knowing that there was no way it could be Eskel responding that quickly. He was right, it unfortunately wasn’t Eskel. It was a response to his previous response to someone who wanted him to proofread not 200,000 words, but 300,000 words. They had sent him the first book, wanting him to eventually edit their entire unpublished, unedited series. And, no. That was not going to happen. He was not an editor, something Jaskier explained in the email, though it was clearly ignored.

In between bouts of cursing, there were insults to his intelligence, his work ethic, his morals. Of course, ones directed at his appearance, musical talent, and sexuality came soon after that. It was always fascinating to him the number of people who watched him perform, who kept watching him perform, but complained about it the whole time.

He was used to these kinds of comments. They still made his chest ache hollowly a little, still made his face warm, but they were thoughtless comments from strangers he wasn’t likely to meet. They didn’t matter. What he wasn’t used to were the threats.

This _person_ with the 300,000-word series they wanted Jaskier to read was getting pretty descriptive with the ways they were planning to break into Jaskier’s home and use various weapons to hurt him, or kidnap him, or—

It was stupidly bland. Very straight to the point, and lacked creativity, embellishment, general description. He definitely wouldn’t have encouraged the person to consider writing horror or murder mystery type novels. For a second, Jaskier just stared at the screen uncomprehendingly. Then his face felt a little warmer, throat a bit tight, heart a bit fast because while it was a dumb threat, it was still a threat.

The computer made a few more dings, letting him know he had even more new emails, but he couldn’t take his eyes off these threats. He had half a mind to report it somehow, but it seemed ridiculous. There was no reason for him to believe the threat would be carried out, and the cops would probably agree.

Jaskier deleted the email and turned his attention to Eskel’s bumbling response to Jaskier’s earlier praise on his fantasy writing.

_Thank you so much Jask, you’re always so kind. You don’t have to play it up or anything, I know it’s not perfect. Still, thank you so much for your help and your kindness._

_Now why are you up so late?_

_Eskel_

Jaskier smiled and shook his head. Eskel was such a mother hen. It was exasperating, but also endearing in a way. His fingers clacked across the keyboard as he typed out a response that he felt was a perfect balance between “hiding something” and “being mostly honest.” Eskel didn’t need to know everything.

“Woke up when I heard my email notification go off,” Jaskier mumbled aloud in disjointed rhythm as he typed. “Figured why not get started for the day. Then I got a bad customer and I’m too mad to sleep.”

The response was nearly immediate.

_Who’s bullying you? Send me their email._

Jaskier cocked his head. That didn’t sound like Eskel. Eskel was more of a “talking out our issues” instead of a “punching all our issues” kind of guy. He was also more of a “long sentences and conversational tone” kind of guy. It didn’t sound like Eskel, but it sure did sound like someone else Jaskier knew.

“Lambert,” Jaskier dictated as he typed. “Why the hell are you on Eskel’s email account?”

Again, the response was quick.

_He’s been looking over my shoulder, sorry about that. But seriously, is someone messing with you? Is everything okay?_

_Eskel_

Jaskier wanted to feel offended. He was a grown ass man. He wasn’t going to start weeping and sobbing over a few mean words from a stubborn, rude customer and he was a little offended that Eskel and Lambert were trying to imply that he was. Then again, it was sort of. . . nice?

Regardless, he wrote back claiming to be a big boy who could handle his own problems. He made sure to thank them for their concern, though, because while they were being nosey, Jaskier knew they weren’t doing it to be assholes.

_As long as you feel you can. Just keep us in the loop. Just in case._

_Eskel & Lambert _

“Yeah, they’re definitely gossiping about me,” Jaskier said with a soft laugh and a shake of his head.


End file.
